Grave Robbery
by Belldere
Summary: There's nothing like a little grave robbery to make you realise that your best friend is possibly the worst person on the planet... and that you're probably as mad as he is for going along with it.


It was only when Sherlock turned into a graveyard that John began to feel uneasy.

Make no mistake, John isn't squeamish around the dead nor does he mind cemeteries all that much, in fact he regards them as one of the better places to just sit and think for a while.

No, what was making him uneasy wasn't that they were walking into a graveyard, it was the fact that his mad flatmate had just strolled into a graveyard with a shovel hoisted over his shoulder and still hadn't seen fit to inform John why they were there in the first place.

This did not bode well.

"Er Sherlock" John began, finally deciding to just ask even if he got no reply, which he had to admit was pretty likely, "any chance you're going to let me in on as to why we're actually here?"

Sherlock didn't even pause in his speedy trail. He simply enunciated the word "case" before swerving down another aisle of the dead, clearly scanning the headstones for a specific name and humming some ghastly tune that sounded far too cheerful for the circumstances.

"Yeah I got that, I was more looking for specifics like why you have a shovel for instance." John said, attempting to not let his irritation seep too much into his voice and failing miserably.

He blamed it on the creepy humming.

Sherlock sighed in obvious impatience and whirled to look at John "we need to exhume the second victim's body because, due to the predictable incompetence of the so-called 'investigators' at the Yard, the body was buried with the evidence to provide one man's alibi and another idiot's lacklustre attempt to frame his stepson. Now come on!"

Sherlock swept off dramatically, looking, for all intents and purposes, like an overgrown bat, obviously expecting John to follow but John simply held his ground, crossing his arms and jutting his jaw out stubbornly. He'd done some pretty shady things in his life but John drew the line at grave robbery.

It seemed to come as something of a surprise to Sherlock when he finally located the correct grave and turned to exclaim to John only to find his blogger was still standing obstinately among the headstones at least four rows away.

"John, come here!" Sherlock commanded, causing John to raise his eyebrows in disbelief. "I need assistance."

John rolled his eyes "No Sherlock" he called petulantly "I am not digging up some poor bugger's grave with you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes "oh don't be so dramatic John, it's not like we're disturbing her."

"Not the point. I'm not doing it." John called, remained steadfast and refusing to move a step. "Hold on… you think I'm dramatic? Really? You're a cape, a mask and a cheesy song away from being the Phantom of the Opera."

Sherlock snarled and stomped his way back to his shorter friend who still would not move a muscle. "I'd like to get this done tonight John which means I need somebody reasonably competent to take turns in digging, meaning you." He thrust the shovel at John to punctuate his sentence only to become further infuriated when John refused to take it.

"No. But really I'm flattered, Sherlock, really. Competent is like 'I love you' in Sherlockian." John chuckled.

"Would saying please make a difference?"

"It might."

"Please?"

"No."

Sherlock groaned and shot John scowl number twenty-three "Contrary to popular belief, digging graves isn't as easy as they make it look on that ridiculous American television show your delightful cousin forced us to endure." He scoffed.

John looked confused for a moment "What? Supernatural? It wasn't so bad. Wouldn't mind getting my hands on that Impala's trunk." He smiled infinitesimally.

"Christmas present noted." Sherlock turned to walk back to the grave only to be stopped by John.

"Wait, hold on… Why do you sound like you've done this before?" John asked, eyebrows contracting in suspicion and faint concern, half curious, half worried for his potential criminal record.

"Done what?" Sherlock questioned evasively, cocking his head innocently.

"Dug somebody up." John clarified.

Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly "Cocaine isn't cheap John" he replied matter-of-factly, hoisting the shovel back over his shoulder and turning to sweep back to the correct grave, only just missing hitting John over his already stunned head.

John's eyes were blown wide "Oh my God."

"And I'm not the prostitution type" Sherlock called over his shoulder.

John hurried after him, hissing accusingly "You stole from people's graves for a fix?!" he paused, the rest of Sherlock's sentence only just occurring to him "Wait, what?"

"Oh come on John, it's not like they can take it with them" Sherlock chimed in derisively, choosing to ignore John's question, turning his attention to digging out his first clump of dirt and perfectly manicured grass.

John sighed "You're probably the worst person I know." It would have sounded sincere too hadn't the tiniest edge of amusement managed to seep its way into his tone.

Sherlock blinked, a toxic cocktail of false surprise, hurt and innocence, that didn't fool John for a second, crossing his face.

So it really shouldn't have worked on him.

But unfortunately it did.

"Oh for God's sake give me the shovel." John snapped snatching it off of Sherlock who was looking far too smug for John's liking.

Sherlock moved to get out of John's way, strolling leisurely away from the headstone "I knew you'd see it my way Jo-" but Sherlock's gloating was abruptly cut off when his foot snagged on a small stone protruding from the, otherwise smooth, ground. Of course with Sherlock just tripping wasn't quite enough.

Nothing like falling into an open grave to shut up a pompous Consulting Detective.

At least John got a bit of a laugh out of it.

…And got Sherlock to agree to three meals a day for the rest of the month before John would help him get out.


End file.
